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Title: IT Chapter: Twelve/? Rating: R Spoilers: Up to and including the last season shown. Beta Reader: Scotty Welles Summary: Alt-Buffy/IT verse and crossover. What if Willow was the seventh member of the choosen group instead of Ben. Disclaimer: Nope, don't belong to me. <><><><><><><> Summer Of 1989 <><><><><><><> "You know, I thought you'd be taller." Willow grabbed the thick wooden pole next to her bed and swung around, ready to pound in the head of that blasted clown. The fear she had felt dissolved into curiosity and disgust. The man before her was wearing a mismatched suit and a hat that was barely covering two short horns on his head. "You're a demon," she muttered, the pole still held up while she tried to decide to pummel the guy or not. "Yep, but of the good variety. Name's Whistler, by the way." "A good demon? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" She lowered the pole but kept her grip on it, just in case. "If you're good, then what are you doing in my room? Because last time I checked, men don't enter girls' room at night, at least not if their intentions are good, and you say your intentions are, so start talking before I pound your head in, because I am soooo not in the mood." "The Powers That Be have been keeping an eye on you and your friends," the unimpressive demon informed her. "Almost everything has been going as it should, however..." He paused. "You, my red-haired friend, haven't." "Uh, what do you mean?" "Simple. You have a talent that's needed to defeat your friend Pennywise, and you were supposed to discover it right after you got here. But apparently you didn't. Typical teenager, doesn't do her homework," he muttered. "Okay, one more crack like that, and I'll pound you on general principle!" He sighed. "Sure, clobber the messenger. Pennywise and pound-foolish..." "I mean it, Demon Boy, get to the point or it's 'batter up' time." She hefted the pole again. "I was supposed to discover this 'talent', but I've been kinda busy. So...?" "So, I end up having to play delivery boy before you get yourself killed." He threw a thick, ancient leather-bound book onto the bed and dropped a paper sack. "What talent? Why is it so important that I don't get killed, not that I want to, mind you?" "Magic," he said bluntly, "and if you get killed then the future Slayer will get killed. You're an important supporting player in her life, and there's a lot riding on her destiny." Willow blinked and lowered the pole. "Hold on, the future what?" "Try to keep up, willya, kid? I'm on a tight schedule here. Look, this Clown you're tussling with is small potatoes compared to the stuff the Slayer will be up against, and she can't tackle it all without you. You are the **** to her *****," he pronounced, using a couple of mystical words that skittered over her consciousness without sinking in. "I'm the what, to her...huh?" Whistler groaned. "Um, the, uh...the Spock to her Kirk, okay? Sheez, you kids and your pop-culture. I'd say the Gabby to her Xena, or the Seven to her Janeway, but this is only eighty-nine, so you haven't seen them yet." She shook her head, now even more confused. "Now THAT is a spell book," he added, pointing, "and THAT is a bag of all the supplies you'll need for tomorrow. I suggest that you get prepared. Now, if you'll excuse me..." She frowned as he disappeared into the shadows, vanishing out of her plane of reality. Would things ever go back to normal for her? Sighing, she sat down on her bed and opened the book. If what that demon said was even half right, then she had a lot of reading to do before morning. <><><><><><><> Willow stood across from the house next to the others, simply watching it. None of them wanted to be here, none of them wanted this responsibility on their shoulders, but they had no choice. Everyone was dressed in expandable play clothes. Lots of sweats and loose tee shirts. Bev, who had her hand in a death grip, had her hair French-braided so that it was out of the way. "H-how are y-you d-d-doing t-t-today, Ed-d-die?" Eddie glared at him, trying to keep up the playful banter, no matter how strained. "Jesus, Bill, how many times do I have to tell you not to stutter my name?" "Y-your f-f-face a-a-and m-m-my a-a-ass." Eddie punched him lightly on the shoulder. "And have to go to the doctor for a rabies shot? No thanks." Everyone forced themselves to laugh, scared to drop the act of a group of children having fun. Bill stepped towards the house, signaling that it was time. One by one, they dropped to their knees and climbed under the porch. Bill went first, dropping down into the basement. Richie kissed Willow's hand and winked as he dropped through next. She snorted softly and followed him, thumping him soundly on the back as Eddie followed. Together they grabbed his dangling legs and lifted him through. The others followed faster. She adjusted her canvass bag on her hip, loosening the strap threaded through the dark metal buckle at the bottom front of the army bag, so that she could get into it with little trouble. She walked away from the others, looking around the dusty basement. She bent down by the coal pile ended and the bottom of the stairs and picked up the dirty black clown glove. Kneeling further down, she peeked under the stairs and laughed darkly as she caught a glimpse of the overflowing orange pom-poms. "Well, you can say this for the guy, he isn't very subtle." Willow grinned at Mike crookedly. "Whatever he is, he needs a makeover." "Yeah, maybe we can get Elizabeth Taylor to do it." Richie put his hand on his waist, his hand up as though holding a cigarette holder. "All you have to do is purse you lips together and blow." "That's Lauren Bacall, dipstick." Willow went up the stairs behind a tight-lipped Bill. She walked out into the hall. The light pink and flowered wallpaper had turned brown, hanging by tattered strips that swayed in non-existent wind. The wooden floor was cracked and uneven. She moved towards the dining room, a small, long room that felt larger than a house that size could hold. A hand latched onto hers, and she looked over at Bev, who gave her a shaky smile. Richie grabbed the strap to her army bag, staying right with them. The alabaster room soared over their heads, and crumbling small pieces of paint and dust fell into their hair. She glanced over and gasped at the Playboy magazine layout pinned to the wall. The blonde muscular woman was gorgeous; the long, thick, wavy hair cascaded over the side of her face; medium-perky, firm, grapefruit-sized breasts were barely covered by a deep green thong that only seemed to hide her nipples. The deep green bottom wasn't even a string running down and between her legs. The blue-eyed goddess on the pages came to life, wiggled her chest at them, and winked, the slim, pierced tongue licking over her lush, swollen red lips. She arched down and ran her long hands up the insides of her legs, over her mound, her trim stomach, and breasts, giving them a good squeeze. "Whoa," she muttered with Richie. Beverly reached over and shut their slack jaws with a glare at her. "Pennywise, remember?" "It's not that," she covered. "But who would ever stick something like that through their tongue? I mean, ewww, gross..." They both looked back at the picture to see the centerfold with silver eyes and orange pom-poms where her breasts had been. Willow shivered slightly. "I think I just lost all interest in blondes." "You and me both, toots." They walked back into the hall, taking soft steps, super-sensitive to everything around them. Muffled thumps and soft squeaks came from the kitchen. Letting Beverly take the lead, slingshot loaded and drawn back, they entered. Mike reached up to the cabinet and yanked it open. Beverly aimed, tightening her grip on the sling. "DON'T SHOOT!!!" Eddie screamed as the bats flew out. Beverly nodded and lowered it. "He wants me to use up the bearings." Mike slammed the door shut onto the overcrowded cabinet. Bill clenched his jaw angrily. " L-l-l-lets g-g-go o-o-on." They walked further down the hall were four more doors. The first was cracked down the middle, the doorknob missing. Voices and laughter came from the second one. Bill walked over to the first door, drawing back his foot to kick it in. "No." Willow swallowed the tingling sensation invading her mind again. "It's the last one." Bill stepped back and approached the last door. When Beverly was beside him, he threw it open, then they walked cautiously into the room. "Man oh man, someone had one hell of a shit in here," Richie exclaimed. The toilet was gone, the porcelain buried into the walls, having shattered what was once the sink, fragments laying in the old fashioned bath tub. Water sheeted the tiled floor in a thin blanket. A large three-foot-wide hole was where the toilet used to be, the pipe going down into the sewers. She approached the hole, hearing a deep rumble like a train going too fast. She could see a blur of white and black coming toward her. "Uh, guys, I think we're about to have company..." "Let's kill the son of a bitch," Stan said, shocking himself with the strength in his voice. Willow backed to Beverly's side, daring someone to try and hurt her. Richie nodded to her and stood on Bev's other side, willing to protect her if that's what she wanted. They found themselves standing in a half-circle around the pipe as the silver light appeared, shifting chaotically. Richie screamed and fell against the wall, his eyes wide with terror. "NOOOOOO!!! It's the werewolf, don't let it get me, please..." Tears fell down his cheeks as he held back sobs. It locked into the werewolf form as Beverly fired the first bearing. She flinched as the silver ball scraped by Its head and burrowed into the wall behind him. It let out a fierce howl and charged. Willow reacted on instinct, jumping in front of Bev and meeting its charge. The giant creature slashed Its large claw in a downward diagonal swipe. Hot fire flared through her chest, blinding her momentarily, giving the beast a chance to lift her up into Its arms. She came back to herself to see the deadly jaws wide open. Yelling at the top of her voice, she thrust her fingers at It, feeling the sicking pop as Its eye gave way. She stopped yelling as she flew across the room, slamming into the wall above the tub, and falling into it. She felt lightheaded, hearing the screams of her friends telling Bev to fire. The angry bawl of hatred retched from Its throat. She groaned with effort, getting up from the tub; her left hand and lower arm burned an angry red as it began to swell around the deep, bloody scratch. She reached into her bag with her right hand, sighing with relief as she felt the glass tube was unbroken. She threw the vial onto the floor by Its feet, shattering it to liberate its vapors. The sound, unnaturally loud, caused everything to stop. It glared at her, wincing under the hail of silver bearings fired by the others to minimal effect, Its one yellow eye turning nervous as it recognized the scent of the mystic potion. Richie skidded to a stop were he was about to tackle the thing. Bev was still aiming the sling shot, but everyone else was waiting. She yelled at the top of her lungs in Latin, the two words making the werewolf whimper. It screeched out in pain as Bev's bearing hit Its other eye. The long deep yowl of rage and pain echoed throughout the shaking house as It retreated, vanishing into the pipe again, Its form dissolving. She sighed and half-fell out of the tub, into Richie's waiting arms. "Are you okay? Gods, I could've killed that bastard for that." She swallowed as she looked down at her now-red shirt, the whole front sticking to her chest. Carefully she examined the four long slashes that ran from her right shoulder down to her left hip. The cuts were deep and bleeding profusely, but far less than she might have expected. That werewolf's claws could have cut a large man in half...if he'd believed the illusion had substance. Her own awareness of the creature's true nature, and her own internal fortitude, had prevented serious injury. They would probably need stitches, but she doubted they were life threatening. "I'll live," she muttered tiredly, not wanting to admit how much pain she was in. 'It's a good thing I don't have any breasts yet...' Beverly hugged her, kissing her gently on the lips. "Thank you for saving my life." She blushed a deep red, and glared at a smirking Richie. "W-w-what d-d-did y-y-you d-d-do?" "It was a banishing spell, it isn't very strong but I figured if we lost control of the fight it might come in handy. You know, so we can regroup, or whatever. Plus, it was the first spell I've ever done so I wasn't even sure if it would work. I mean, that demon dude said it's my talent but you can't always trust strange demons." She ran out of breath and gasped slightly. "Ooooohhhh. Do you leave in a bottle and wear a stringy bikini too?" She leaned into Richie and let him help her out of the bathroom. "Beep beep, Richie." <><><><><><><> " I signed the release waiver, so feel free to put things in my slot anytime." - Charles Angels. Odo: Madam Ambassodor, I'm not like you. Every sixteen hours I revert to a liqiud. Lwaxana Troi: I can swim. - DS9: The Forsaken. 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